A Novice’s Guide to “The Hunger Games”

This morning, while discussing the Reaping, I realized that my colleagues fall into two camps. Some are obsessed by “The Hunger Games”—the three books by Suzanne Collins and the movie opening Friday—and some are baffled. In response to the latter group, here are answers to a few basic questions, the first one of which, obviously, is:

What is the Reaping?

It is a lottery, in the Shirley Jackson “The Lottery” sense. Every year, every child in the twelve districts that make up Panem is entered into a drawing. They can enter more than once, even, in exchange for extra food—food is scarce in the poorer districts. Two are chosen from each—a boy and a girl. They are known as “tributes,” and are sent to the Capitol, where they take part in a televised game. The goal is to kill all of the other children. The winner is the last one alive.

There’s a caveat that the plot is built around: it’s a lottery, but a volunteer can take the place of the selected one. This is the moment you might have seen in the trailer: when Katniss Everdeen’s little sister is chosen, she jumps in to take her place.

“Panem”? Is it even set on earth?

Yes, but earth has been through a lot; Panem is what’s left of the United States. District 12 is Appalachia, roughly.

How much of how the world got that way is explained in the series?

Not much about the initial disaster, but we find out more and more about the seventy-five years that preceded the incidents in the books. Katniss, who narrates, explains that the games are punishment for a rebellion against the Capitol. A thirteenth district was completely destroyed. But key elements of the history she learned in school turn out to be false.

Why kids? Are there any adults left?

There are; going after children, according to the novels, is how the Capitol underscores the powerlessness of parents, leaving them ashamed, demoralized, complicit—just what a dictatorship looks for. (There are also “career” tributes, who volunteer because they’ve been brought up and trained to win. They are from the richest, and most compromised districts.) This dynamic is made more explicit every Quarter Quell.

Quarter Quell?

Every twenty-five years the Capitol makes the games extra humiliating. For the first Quarter Quell, the districts had to vote on whom to send themselves. The twist for the third Quarter Quell is a major element in “Catching Fire,” the second novel.

Back to Katniss. What’s with the bow and arrow?

Dana Goodyear has more on the girl-hunter angle. Basically, Katniss helps feed her mother and sister by hunting illegally; her father died in a coal-mine explosion. She mostly kills squirrels and rabbits; she shoots them in the eyes, so that more of the meat is intact.

Is Katniss a feminist, a post-feminist, a non-feminist, or none of the above?

She is not passive. She works. The boy tribute from her district has skills that include cake-decorating (which turns out to be good for camouflaging yourself with mud) and flower-drawing. Hers include knife-throwing. In the later books, there are at least three female rebel leaders. At the same time, there is a leg-waxing scene. Katniss learns to appreciate clothing and other accoutrements, not to feel pretty but to “make an impression,” as her stylist, Cinna (played by Lenny Kravitz—see the clip below), puts it. Maybe that’s post-feminist; if the bar for feminism is having a strong girl for whom romance is not the top priority, you’re there.

But about romance: Is the cake-decorating boy the blond one in the trailer, or the dark-haired one? Is this a Team Edward-Team Jacob situation?

Team Peeta and Team Gale, yes. Gale is the dark-haired childhood friend. But whereas in the “Twilight” books Bella loves both boys, which leaves her confused, Katniss isn’t sure she loves either, which leaves her grumpy. This is one of the many ways in which the books are interesting.

Interesting—really?

Yes, and not just because, as I wrote at Daily Comment, the story becomes less about a game and more of an examination of war, politics, counterinsurgency, and the use—and cost—of violence in all of them. The final chapters of the trilogy are a sort of political assassination thriller. That was what fascinated me; others will be more taken by the riffs on media and publicity machines. See Laura Miller’s excellent essay on these and other dark young adult novels for more on that.

What’s the original age group for which this is intended, and how did it cross over to everyone?

It’s listed for readers age twelve and up. My child read it at a slightly younger age (I get more into that, and about the level of violence, at Daily Comment). Some adults picked it up for the same reason I did: if your child is obsessed with a book about children killing other children, it’s probably a good idea to read it. But that excuse isn’st necessary. Grownups read these books because they are smart and well written.

This is basically dystopian Harry Potter, right?

No wizards; no magic. But there are some resonances. Both Harry and Katniss become symbols of rebellion—walking totems. And, as with the Harry Potter films, there is some inspired casting in the minor adult roles (Stanley Tucci as a talk-show host; Woody Harrelson as Katniss’s drunken mentor). When Harry is criticized—often by characters we don’t like—for allowing his friends to form Dumbledore’s Army and endanger themselves, he either pushes back or sulks before being reassured that it’s alright, or at least not his fault. For Katniss Everdeen, putting children in that position is the central moral problem.

To make another comparison, it’s as if the discussion of the wrongness of killing independent plumbing contractors who might have been working on the second Death Star took place in the context of “Return of the Jedi,” and in all seriousness, rather than in “Clerks.”

You lost me.

Just watch this video:

Amy Davidson Sorkin is a New Yorker staff writer. She is a regular Comment contributor for the magazine and writes a Web column, in which she covers war, sports, and everything in between.